


Show Me I'm Yours

by scully_snails



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal (TV) RPF
Genre: Biting, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, F/M, First Time, I am so sorry, Kissing, MADSERSON, Post-Coital Cuddling, RPF, Rough Sex, Smoking, So Much Angst So Much Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 00:10:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4766126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scully_snails/pseuds/scully_snails
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After two seasons spent flirting with one another, Mads & Gillian's sexual tension becomes too much to bear while shooting "Antipasto."  A lot of angst & a lot lot lot of smut.  <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show Me I'm Yours

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first fic ever, so be gentle with me! But not *too* gentle... ;) 
> 
> Also, I'm absolutely terrified of posting this, so if you dig it, let me know! <3

“What?” Gillian smirked, forcibly holding back a giggle as Mads stepped aside, pressing his back flat against the wall so she could pass through the narrow hallway.

“What?” he replied with a smile and tilt of his head, accent heavy and honey-sweet on his tongue.

Gillian kept walking, but when she twisted her head ever so slightly—just enough to see out of her peripheral vision—the sight of Mads still smiling slyly as he watched her strut away was enough to send chills up and down her thighs.

Once she stepped outside, the wind slapping against her quickly-reddening face, Gillian finally remembered to breathe. She burst into a hearty laugh that no one but she herself would hear, and pressed her hands to her cheeks. She wasn’t used to being this overcome by anyone on set. She was used to being in control, but after two years of anxiously awaiting every scene she shot with Mads, she realized this was different. Mads made her feel so out of control—so deliciously, exquisitely pliant. She could only imagine what it’d feel like to find herself pliant under his strong hands and nimble fingers, his touch making her skin prickle with goosebumps before he tore her apart.

Gillian cleared her throat and approached a young crew member who was halfheartedly listening to someone on the other end of his phone. “Can I get one of those?” she mouthed, nodding toward the cigarette in his hand. Quick to do anything to help Gillian, the boy fished into his jacket pocket and produced a pack of Marlboro reds, from which she swiftly snatched a cigarette and held it up to him to light. She smiled her appreciation and shuffled away as the man returned to his conversation.

Sitting down on a stoop in the alley behind the studio, Gillian slowly pulled the smoke in and out of her lungs, closing her eyes to steady her breathing. “Trying to cross my path?” she heard from somewhere above her. She slowly opened her eyes, knowing damn well who she’d find.

“Maybe,” she shrugged faux-nonchalantly as she turned her eyes upward toward Mads and took a drag from her cigarette.

“I thought you quit,” he teased, nudging her knee with his shin.

She didn’t reply at first, just watched him light his own smoke and take a deep inhale. “Yeah, well,” she laughed. “You know.”

Mads sat down on the stoop beside her, scooting her over with his hip until he could sit comfortably. Gillian was acutely aware of the way their hips burned together as she took another drag. “Nervous about today?” Mads coolly asked, turning his face toward hers.

“About the scene?” She cast her eyes toward his. “Nah, not really. Not looking forward to washing all this hairspray out of my hair, but not nervous.” She gestured toward her hair, swept up and back into a voluminously-curled side ponytail.

“Well, it looks great.” Mads smiled sweetly, his top lip curling up in a way that mads Gillian ache to feel it against the side of her neck left bare by her updo.

“Thanks.” She blushed, despite her best efforts not to. “Are you nervous?”

“Me? Never!” Mads’ cockiness was one of Gillian’s favorite things about him. “I get to show what I can do,” he chuckled, inhaling again. They’d been working on the steps for days—Gillian in leggings, Mads in track pants—but had never performed their waltz in front of a room full of people.

“I’m sure,” she replied, looking off into the distance in order to avoid eye contact. She was sure that if Mads looked at her right now, he’d be able to see how much she ached for him to throw her against the brick wall and ruin her right there—fancy hair and all. Mads playfully tapped his knee against hers, looking at her only out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t read her, couldn’t gauge her reactions to him, and that only thrilled him even more.

“I should go get dressed,” she smiled noncommittally, flicking her cigarette butt against the wall. Mads nodded and lit a second for himself.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

As Mads twirled her around, Gillian couldn't help but notice the way he smirked proudly. _Sure, Hannibal’s proud of Bedelia_ , she told herself, but a voice in the back of her head wondered if there was anything more to it. She focused, face Bedelia-stoic, on Mads’ eyes, willing her legs to remember the steps, even when constricted by a Marchesa dress that cost more than her first car.

Readying herself for the dip, Gillian took a deep breath and clawed hungrily into Mads’ shoulder. _I could hold him like this forever_ , she thought—a notion that caused her to whimper aloud and lose her grip.

_CUT!!_

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry. Let’s go again.” She sighed audibly, frustrated at herself for being so distracted, at Mads for distracting her, at the crew for noticing.

“Are you okay?” Mads whispered to her, barely audible to anyone else.

Gillian nodded, then waved her hand in his direction. “I’m fine,” she laughed, “just clumsy.” Mads smiled kindly; in response, Gillian drifted her hand along his thigh, “Let’s do this.” The stunned look that crosses Mads’ face was worth the new take.

They corrected their steps, an ever-so-slight sheen of sweat growing on Mads’ foreheard as he athletically spun Gillian around the floor. She swore she saw him bite his lower lip on the second-to-last turn, and had to glance away to keep from biting it herself. The crowd of extras around them disappeared as Mads dipped her, her clavicle arching exquisitely toward the floor. When he pulled her back up, they locked eyes. Right on cue, she whispered “grazie,” shooting the word straight from her mouth and into Mads’.

She’d envisioned finding his eyes, lips, body this close to hers many times, but when Mads parted his Hannibal-pursed lips to breathe, she swore she could see him swallowing her words. Must be why I can’t breathe, she thought, yanking up her strapless gown and reaching into her dizzied brain for the next line.

When Bedelia’s attention was to be grabbed by Sogliato, Gillian couldn’t help but feel frustrated that the moment had been shattered. She wanted to be back in Mads’ hands, led by him, tipped and exposed to him. As Mads began reciting his lines—Dante in Italian—Gillian looked over her right shoulder, as Bedelia was cued to do, but the awe was all her own. His tanned skin, thick hair, lips purling into the text’s exquisite syllables… when Mads finished his lines and _CUT!!_ came echoing from the other side of the room, Gillian exhaled. “Mind if I take a break real fast?” she asked, barely waiting for the answer before heading for the door.

“Bedelia _should_ feel unsteadied,” Mads called after her, following on her heels. “It’s okay, you know.”

“Don’t,” Gillian snapped, refusing to turn to see the man rapidly approaching. She heard his footsteps stop as she stormed through the bathroom door.

Once inside, she locked the door and slammed her palms onto the counter, glaring at herself in the mirror. “Idiot,” she growled. “Idiot!” It wasn’t like she was a stranger to affairs, to keeping things on the down-low on set, but this was different. She knew how to corner people, how to seduce them. She knew how to shove people against walls and stun them with her lips, how to touch them to prove that she was in control. She was used to people melting when she shot them _that_ stare, used to holding people down with her small hands wrapped tightly around their necks. But now… all she could think about was Mads climbing on top of her, crushing her with his weight, pulling her hair to show her that she was _his_ property, _his_ little rag doll that’d he do with as he pleased.

She didn’t need to use the bathroom, but shut herself into a stall anyway, body humming with the memory of Mads’ thick hands on it. Leaning against the wall, she hiked her dress up, caring less about damaging the Marchesa than about exposing herself to her own hands. “I can’t—” she sighed under her breath. “I can’t,” she repeated, her legs spreading apart almost in spite of themselves. She squirmed, feeling the heavy beading of the dress scratch against the backs of her thighs, wishing that roughness came from Mads’ fingernails across her skin.

“Fuck,” she moaned, near tears as she snaked her hand up her own dress, fingers grazing her swollen labia. She dipped her head, chin touching her chest, mewling under her breath as she stroked herself. “Mads—” she whispered, biting the inside of her lower lip. “Mads—” She slid her panties off, leaving them hitched around her high heel. “Mads… make me… make me come,” her voice quivered as worked small circles around her clit, knees buckling as she locked her shoulders back against the stall. “Ma——” she yelped quietly, unable to finish his name before the heat coursed through her body. Gillian felt herself clench tightly and imagined Mads inside of her, being held in place by the waves of tension that rode through her.

She grabbed emptily for the wall, unable to find something to clasp, and instead reached down to clutch her hip, squeezing it so tightly she was sure it’d bruise. “Give it to me, Mads” she hissed, thrusting herself into her other hand.

When she was finally able to breathe again, Gillian straightened her gown & kicked her panties from around her high heel. They slid across the tile floor until she had to unceremoniously reach down and swipe them from their resting place against the base of the stall. Pulling her heavy dress up as much as she could manage, Gillian wrangled the lace around one shoe, then the other, groaning as the cool fabric came to rest against her sensitive skin.

She left the stall, gently palming the door shut behind her, and couldn’t help but laugh as she looked at herself in the mirror—exposed chest blooming with a heat rash, mascara smudged in a delicate swipe. _What the fuck is wrong with me?_ she thought as she washed her hands, using the tips of her middle fingers to wipe the makeup from beneath her eyes. Gillian wasn’t used to this. Flirtation, sure. Desire, of course. But feeling utterly overwhelmed by another person was foreign to her. She was used to being the pursuer—the one who seduced men and women alike, regardless of their circumstances. Mads turned the tables on her, though. Just the thought of his name sent another buzz of electricity down her throat as she shook her hands under the air dryer and twisted her dress around to its perfect, tidy angle.

When she swung open the bathroom door, she gasped when she saw Mads standing right outside, leaned coolly against the wall. “Jesus, Mads! You scared the shit out of me!” _Did he hear, did he hear, did he hear_ raced through her panicked mind, even though a big part of her hoped he had.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, locking eyes with her. “You seemed—”

“No, it’s nothing!” she cut him off faux-cheerfully, nonchalantly waving a hand. “Just tired and really had to pee!”

Mads eyed her curiously, but didn’t protest. “Want a smoke?” he nodded toward the back door.

“Why not?” Gillian sighed. _Lord knows I could use one right about now_ , she thought, biting back a smirk.

“M’lady,” Mads teased, motioning her ahead and resting a hand on the small of her back as he followed behind.

Once behind the building, Mads lit his own cigarette before extending a second, along with the lighter, to Gillian. “Dammit,” she giggled, flicking the lighter’s metal wheel to no avail. “Your lighter sucks,” she complained, clasping the unlit cigarette between lips that curled into a smirk. Mads snatched it back from her and swiped the cigarette from her mouth. “Hey!”

He locked his cigarette between two fingers and put hers between his lips, lighting it on the first try before passing it back to her. “I think you suck,” he teased. Gillian flipped him off and drew from the cigarette, trying to ignore how she could taste Mads on it, his saliva mixing with hers. _I’d suck right here, right now_ , she thought, watching him through the small cloud of smoke in front of his face.

As if he could read her mind, Mads shrugged playfully. “What?” he chided.

“Nothing!” she giggled. Mads loved the way she giggled—her entire body relaxed, eyes filling with happy tears. It was a nice departure from how stoic she had to be in their scenes together. She looked so alive like this—hair starting to fall out of place, voice so much more normal than it’d been all day. He couldn’t help but reach over to tuck a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

As soon as Gillian felt Mads’ palm hovering near her cheek, she turned into it, resting her cheekbone against it. She closed her eyes and inhaled just once, slowly, hoping beyond all hope that he’d never move his hand. “You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, inching his body closer to hers. She didn’t reply, but Mads could feel her skin warming beneath his hand. _To make Gillian Anderson blush…_ he thought. He—like everyone else—had heard the rumors about her, how she was insatiably flirtatious, how she went after what she wanted. But this delicate face under his palm… it didn’t feel like it belonged to the aggressive spitfire he’d heard so much about.

Gillian brushed her lips against the inside of Mads’ wrist, kissing it ever so slightly before bringing her cigarette up to take a drag. Mads chuckled nervously under his breath, dropping his hand and mimicking her, inhaling from his own cigarette. She looked up at him—still standing close—through uncharacteristically shy eyes, and smiled. He looked away, off into the distance, and stubbed out his smoke with his heel. “See you inside,” he whispered. Mads’ accent seemed heavier than normal to Gillian as she thumbed her cigarette and nodded almost imperceptibly in reply.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It was nearly 10pm when Gillian showed up outside Mads’ trailer. The door was propped half-open with a chair, and she peeked her head inside to see Mads sitting on the couch in his reading glasses, paperback in one hand, cigarette in another. “Hey you,” she shamelessly flirted, leaning her head against the doorframe.

“Hey yourself,” he smiled sweetly, laying the book down spine-up on the couch to mark his place.

“Busy?”

Mads motioned around the room in response. “Nope, come on in. You can close the door—I was just getting some air.”

“You’re really living it up tonight,” Gillian teased, hovering near the arm of the sofa.

Mads grinned, showing his sharp eye teeth. “I’m a regular party animal! Here, sit.” He stood and motioned toward the small cushions. “Want a beer? Or food? I think I have some—”

“A beer’d be great,” Gillian interrupted, running a hand through her hair. “Long day.” She sat back against the sofa, almost surprised at how relaxed she felt as she watched Mads reach into the mini-fridge.

He cracked open two bottles in rapid succession and handed one to Gillian. “Nothing fancy,” he shrugged, feeling slightly embarrassed that the nicest thing he had to offer was Labatt Blue.

“It’ll do the job.” She knew what she was doing. This was her realm.

“What job are you planning for tonight?” Mads’ upper lip curled coyly, exaggerating his perfect cupid’s bow. Gillian couldn’t help but watch the tiny movements of his face, entranced by how much he was giving away, despite his obvious efforts not to do so.

“We’ll see,” she raised her eyebrows teasingly. “Cheers!” Gillian coolly changed the subject, extending her bottle in Mads’ direction.

“To what?” He moved his book and sat down beside her on the couch.

“To Anthony Dimmond,” Gillian laughed, referencing the last scene they’d done that day—a reshoot of Hannibal breaking Dimmond’s neck. “Poor guy!”

“Too horny for his own good!” Mads cackled, tapping his beer against hers.

“Familiar feeling,” Gillian quipped, lips hovering just over the mouth of her bottle. Mads could’ve spit his beer everywhere—that or thrown her down on the couch right then—but instead swallowed hard to prevent both.

“What’re you reading?” she asked, pointing to the paperback on the table.

“Oh, just something I swiped from makeup—a western. It’s not very good.”

“Mads Mikkelsen, regular cowboy,” Gillian elbowed him, giggling.

Mads elbowed back, well-aware that he was basically submitting to Gillian’s game at this point. “I spent months on the back of a horse—”

“Yeah, with Hugh!” She rolled her eyes melodramatically. She hoped their laughter would be enough to give cover to her slyly inching her body closer to him.

“Well, yes,” Mads conceded with a chuckle, taking a gulp of his beer. Gillian mimicked, downing nearly half of hers in one fell swoop. “This is cute,” Mads smiled, his index finger poking at the stomach of her expressedly non-Bedelia short black tank dress. When Gillian didn’t move away, he slowly ran his finger down her thin stomach to tap at her hipbone.

“Thanks,” she whispered huskily. In that moment, Gillian inhaled so many scents that her brain had long-connected with the man whose fingertip played at her hipbone—cigarettes, beer, and his thick, masculine smell of leather, sweat, and a woodsy-scented soap. If she could bottle his scent and spray it on her pillows at night, she’d be a happy woman.

“What are your plans tonight?” Mads smiled through dilated pupils.

“No plans,” she replied in an attempt at nonchalance.

He took the nearly-empty beer bottle from her small hand, setting it on the table behind him without turning away from her. “None?” Gillian shook her head and bit the inside of her lip, thinking he wouldn’t notice. She was wrong. “What?” he whispered, the word purling slowly from his mouth as he touched a thumb to her lip, resting it on the same place she’d bitten from the inside.

It only took a second or two of staring directly at his slightly parted lips before Gillian couldn’t resist any longer. She launched herself forward, crashing her mouth against his, relieved that he met her with a rough open-mouthed kiss and a hand strung violently through her hair as if he couldn’t pull her face close enough to his.

They were frenzied with their pent-up desire for one another, Mads wrapping one arm around Gillian’s back, pulling her into a close embrace; Gillian pawing frantically at him, grabbing his cheekbones, jaw, needing her hands to memorize every sharp angle of his face, to make familiar everything she’d hungrily eyed all this time.

Mads pulled Gillian onto his lap, her legs—naked to the mid-thigh thanks to her dress—bent and straddling his waist. He held her close, one hand resting on her tailbone, one wrapped around her back. Their mouths still predatorily devouring one another, Mads settled back into the cushion, almost awed at the sight of the tiny body atop his, grinding her hips against his thighs. Gillian gripped the couch on either side of Mads’ head, steadying herself as he nipped—gently at first—at her neck, soft blonde hair falling into his face.

A high-pitched moan spilled from her lips as she felt Mads bite down on her neck. “Sorry,” he mouthed onto her warm skin, not wanting to stop tasting her for a second.

“It’s okay,” she breathed, tangling a hand into his grey-blonde hair and cradling the back of his head in her palm.

“It might leave a mark,” he whispered, but didn’t stop biting.

“Show me I’m yours,” she purred, pulling at his hair. She thrust forward and could feel Mads’ increasing hardness beneath her, pushing against her pelvic bone as he sucked tautly, alternating between firm bites and soothing swirls of his tongue against the pain.

Gillian moaned and leaned further into Mads, prompting him to sigh deeply against her neck and reach up to slide the straps of her dress just barely off her shoulders so he could nip at her collarbone, hands greedily hovering over her still-clothed breasts.

She leaned her temple against his, making sure he could feel her breath against his ear, feel it quicken as he palmed her breasts. “Take this—” he started, tugging at the soft cotton dress.

Before he could finish his sentence, Gillian had yanked it down to her waist, exposing a delicate black lace strapless bra. Mads was still wearing a shirt from his Hannibal wardrobe—a now-wrinkled white button down. Gillian reached down and ravenously unbuttoned it, top to bottom, spreading it wide as if she was putting Mads’ chest—greying hair glistening lightly with sweat—on display.

Like a needy child, she latched her arms around his neck, burying her face in the side of his neck and inhaling audibly. “Goddamn,” he moaned, accent heavy, as she ran her palms against his strong chest, leaving delicate kisses along his shoulder as she nudged the shirt further off. He could smell the grapefruit tinge of her shampoo as she gently slipped his arms out of the shirtsleeves, and had to blink hard to make sure he wasn’t imagining this.

As Gillian sat back up, Mads’ shirt now shoved down between the cushions behind him, she couldn’t help but grin at him. “Hi,” he played.

“Hey,” she grinned back before giggling nervously when he wove one large hand through the hair at the side of her face, holding her steady to look into her eyes. Gillian was surprised to feel herself flush at the intensity of Mads’ gaze.

“I just…” he began, stroking her cheekbone with his thumb, before realizing he had no idea what he wanted to say, and instead tugging her face up to his for a slow, deep kiss.

Gillian felt an unnamable emotion welling up in her chest—desire, of course, but beyond that, warmth. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at her with such compassion, such kindness. Tilting her head to deepen the kiss, she twined her arms around the base of Mads’ neck and desperately squeezed his body. She didn’t know what it was about Mads, but she just wanted to be held by him, no matter the consequences. She’d be happy to let him do anything to her, as long as she could be buried in the warmth of his steady chest.

Mads squirmed beneath her, and Gillian could tell he was uncomfortable, constrained by his tight Hannibal dress slacks. Her lips formed a smile beneath his as she sat back up, baring down and rubbing herself firmly against him. “Ahhhh—” he gasped, clenching her shoulders and controllingly pushing her small body down onto him. Mads lifted his hips into hers, thrusting his clothed erection against her panties. Gillian smirked, riding him, feeling a zing of electricity every time his cock slid against her barely-covered clit.

Their rhythmic rocking was suddenly interrupted by a knock on the door. Gillian’s eyes widened—a deer caught in the headlights. Mads held a finger to his lips in a _shhhh_ gesture, even as he held back a smile. Another knock— “Mads?” It was Hugh’s voice.

Mads picked Gillian up by her hips and sat her on the couch. She couldn’t help but be even more turned on by how easily he could manhandle her. He squirmed as he stood up, trying to minimize his obvious erection before he answered the door. “Hey Hugh, what’s up?” He opened the door just a crack, enough that Hugh could see his face and bare shoulders, but not much more.

“Are you busy? I just wanted to ask you a question about this scene,” Hugh waved a script.

Mads ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “Um, was just about to head out, but—”

“Oh, no, that’s fine! No rush!” Mads knew his friend’s politeness would prevent any awkward situations; Hugh wouldn’t want to inconvenience him.

“I’ll call you in the morning?” Mads asked, already inching the door closed.

“Sure,” Hugh nodded slowly, and Mads saw just a faint hint of skepticism on his face as he closed the door.

He turned back to Gillian, sitting low on her knees on the couch, dress slipped down to expose her cleavage, and chuckled. “Well, then.”

Gillian rubbed a hand over her face in response before bursting into giggles. “Well. Where were we?”

“I think—” Mads began, “we were—” He pushed Gillian back by her shoulders, throwing her down onto her back, and sliding the soft dress off over her feet. “Somewhere—” He climbed on top of her, kissing her collarbone. “About—” One hand deftly unhooked her bra, tossing it to the floor. “Here.” Mads breathed over her breast, lips close enough to feel her nipple harden beneath them.

Gillian inhaled sharply as Mads circled her nipple with the tip of his tongue—one hand bracing himself above her on the cushion; the other gently grasping her other breast. He felt her buck her hips against him as he greedily took her nipple into his mouth, tugging gently with his teeth before kissing it softly.

He needed to feel her, needed more of her. Mads slipped a hand under Gillian’s panties, and the static warmth of his hand elicited a whimper from her. She pursed her lips and swallowed hard as he began stroking her gently, his touch surprisingly delicate, almost hovering over her. Just as the tension started to become almost unbearable, Mads reached up to grab Gillian’s hair with one hand, pulling her head to the side so she could watch his face as he yanked off her underwear and thrust a long, nimble finger into her, licking his lips ravenously.

She moaned a long, deep moan as Mads slowly ran his finger along her from the inside, sliding in and out at a pace that made Gillian think she might actually explode from anticipation. “Mads,” she sighed, closing her eyes in revelry. He replied by firmly yanking her hair, forcing her eyes to open and focus on his.

“Jesus fuck... fuck me,” she purred as he thrust another finger inside of her, still moving slowly, meticulously. Mads let go of her hair, lowering his face to kiss her stomach, leaving a soft trail around her belly button and shivers radiating through her entire body. Her didn’t quicken his slow, rhythmic movements inside of her even as his tongue began teasing her clit.

Gillian sucked in air through her teeth as Mads licked long strokes against her, bottom to top, over and over. He smiled, self-satisfied, at the way her body so readily accepted a third finger. He pulled them against her, almost awed at how swollen and wet she was—how swollen and wet he’d made her. Gillian’s hips arched quickly and she bucked herself against his fingers and tongue, using both hands to hold his head in place, mouth pressed tightly against her clit. A torrent of jumbled and repeated _oh God_ , _fuck_ , and _please, Mads_ poured from Gillian’s lips as she came against his, clenching violently around his now-still fingers. She could feel him humming and moaning against her clit as he made her come, tongue still making slow strokes against her trembling body.

Gillian snaked her fingers through Mads’ hair absent-mindedly as he left a single soft kiss against each hipbone and smiled up at her. “Fuck,” she groaned, covering her oversensitive clit with her hand. “Fuck.” This time, a small giggle.

Mads couldn’t help but be charmed by her—giggling even in this state. He grinned and cradled a hand under the small of her back, watching her chest speedily rise and fall, a heat rash spread across her cheeks. He’d imagined seeing her undone like this so many times. So many nights, imagining her wrecked just like this had been all he’d needed to get off, and now…

He sat up and rested his elbow on the back of the couch, propping his face up, knuckles to cheekbone, and smiled, enchanted by the sight of her. “What?” she blushed.

“You.” His eyes gleamed. “You’re just wonderful.”

Gillian pulled herself up to meet him and nuzzled her nose against his before gently kissing him. “You’re not bad yourself,” she playfully whispered into his mouth.

She reached down and, with one hand, unbuttoned his pants to slip her small fingers under his waistband, under his boxer briefs, to tease his hard cock. Her fingers danced delicately over him, purposefully torturing him with the soft sensations.

One of Mads’ hands rested on Gillian’s lower back; the other grasped at the side of his own neck as he let out a single heady moan, enough to encourage Gillian to unzip his pants all the way. He arched his thighs enough for her to be able to slide his slacks and underwear off in one fell swoop, leaving him—finally—as naked as she was.

Gillian’s tongue darted from her mouth, wetting her lips almost instinctively as she admired his cock for only a second before wrapping her hand around it and stroking firmly. Her other hand tangled in his damp chest hair, Gillian intently watched Mads’ face as she touched him. This look was neither stoic Hannibal nor the rambunctious, smiley Mads she was used to. His head tilted against the back of the couch, eyes softly closed, and fingers gripping tightly against her back, he was the most gorgeous man Gillian had ever laid eyes on.

He let out a long breath, chest rising beneath her hand, and Gillian couldn’t stop herself. Still sitting back on knees and heels beside Mads, she leaned down and gave the head of his cock a small closed-mouth kiss, letting his pre-come linger on her lower lip as she drew a hand across his nipple. She ran her hand down to rest on his soft stomach, at the same time, feeling his cock twitch under her mouth as she exhaled over it.

She took him into her mouth, slowly at first, taking extreme pleasure in the deep “ohhhhhh” that crawled from his lips as she ran her tongue along the underside of his cock. Proudly, Gillian pulled the length of him into her mouth, gagging for only a split second as she felt him hit the back of her throat. “Baby,” Mads moaned, watching in awe as Gillian danced her head up and down his cock, not hesitating to take him all in.

She could taste the salty sweetness of his pre-come in her mouth, which only turned her on even more. She began pumping him with one hand, her other still resting lazily on his stomach. Teasing him with light swirling pressure from base to tip, Gillian knew she’d gotten him close, but before she could bring him to finish, he grabbed her hair, pulling her away from his cock. She yelped sharply at the sudden jolt of sensation, but couldn’t get out any words before Mads used one hand to hold her down on her back, climbing atop her.

“I need to fuck you,” he growled aggressively.

Gillian nodded, pupils dilated with arousal and tongue still tasting like him. “Please,” she begged.

Mads reached down to palm her wetness before rubbing her still-sensitive clit with his thumb. Gillian’s soft moan turned into a gasp when Mads drove his cock into her, one slow movement before he began thrusting greedily into her body. He couldn’t get close enough to Gillian in this moment—needed even more of her. His hand reached up to wrap around the back of her neck, grasping her tightly, yet almost romantically, as he fucked her.

Despite his own furious thrusting, Mads didn’t stop massaging Gillian’s clit with his thumb, alternating pressure based on her cries. Before he knew it, she was gasping. “I’m gonna— Mads— I’m gonna come!” He thought her ragged voice crying his name was enough to finish him off, but when she whispered, “Come with me, baby,” he felt a shudder wrack his whole body.

Feeling Gillian clench tightly around him, watching her face flush and cry in pleasure as she tugged at her own hair as she came, Mads thrusted one final time into her, deeper than he thought possible, and Gillian shuddered in joy as she felt him fill her. She yelped through her own orgasm, through his low moans, their noises braiding together in the thick air of the small trailer.

His face blooming pink with exertion, Mads softly stroked Gillian’s warm cheek, tracing the tip of his thumb beneath her eye. She closed her eyes, drowning in the prickling heat of his touch and the heavy warmth of his cock still inside her. The corners of her mouth lifted into a shy smile as she opened her eyes to see him gazing at her, content. He leaned down, resting a light kiss on her swollen lips.

“I’ll get you something… a towel,” Mads whispered.

“No,” Gillian replied, wrapping both arms around his shoulders and gently pulling his weight down onto her. “Just stay.”

“Stay?” he smiled, nuzzling his body into the side of the couch so as not to crush her, and snaking an arm around her waist to pull her close.

She rolled over onto her side, curling her small body in against his chest and thighs. Mads kissed the back of her head.

“Stay,” she closed her eyes happily.

 

* * *

 


End file.
